100 Ways to Say I'm Sorry
by Elina
Summary: Toby's drowning his sorrows with too many whiskeys. But why? (!! Updated: Chapter Six is up !!) [I changed the rating because there are plenty of warnings within the story saying that I curse. Quite a lot. Otherwise, it's pretty clean]
1. Prelude

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Author: Elina 

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A/N: There was a bar and a man and a story, and I started thinking about my favorite CJ/Toby moments, and I'm not going to yarn any longer, just going to say that this hasn't been betaed and if the sentences are a bit, I don't know, rambling perhaps, then you just have to take it, and now I'm going to finally end this sentence with a.

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Spoilers: Some tiny one's from The Women of Qumar.

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Summary: A sorta post-ep to TWOQ, takes off to outer space from there. -- Toby is drowning his sorrow with too many whiskeys. But why?

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A/N-2: Just writing this to point out that this is a story that's merely beginning to form in my head and I have no idea where this is going, so if someone wants to suggest something then I'm listening. All I'm saying is that let's see where this is going to. (May I also state that I've, once again, drunken too much coffee)

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Disclaimer:Yeah, I just bought myself a brand-new car and a villa in France with the money I get from doing this. 

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Rating: The entire story is rated **R** because of my habit of cursing too much.

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# 100 Ways to Say I'm Sorry - Prelude #

The air in the bar was musty and filled with the smell of cigarettes. The jukebox was playing yet another whining blues tune in the corner. _"My baby's gone away, she don't love me no more,"_ a whiskey-throated man bewailed, the voice barely reaching through the other noise in the bar -- the men at the pool table playing and laughing, the group of students in the corner booth discussing today's topics, glasses clicking against each other, the 'one more' shouts echoing all over, and all the other general hubbub. There were a lot of motion in the bar; not enough people to call it crowded though, but too many to call it even half empty. People chatting, joking, laughing, making new acquaintances; people sulking, trying to drown their misery, unaware of the hassle around them, not caring about the social bull. All kinds of people could fit in that bar that night -- including a brown-suited man sitting on the barstool at the far end of the counter, whirling his drink around in his glass. 

You could've easily missed him if you didn't look. To where he was sitting the light couldn't quite reach; it was shadowed by the shelf that hung above the counter. In that shadow he sat, not interested in the men playing pool or the students or even the soon-to-be-passed-out-woman at the near table who had been trying to make eye contact with him the entire night in her sudden moment of loneliness. No, he wasn't really interested in any of them. He was only interested in the melancholy sound of the blues and getting as drunk as humanly possible. He was already on a good way to it. 

__

"My baby says I treat her mean," the singer moaned from the jukebox. _"My baby says I treat her sooo mean, so she's gone left this town."_

He whirled the ice around in the glass, watching as it pushed the brown liquid aside as it went around and around and around as he listened to the raspy voice, letting it fly over him. The song wasn't particularly _good_, not a piece of divine art, not even close, but it was good enough at the moment. The guitar started playing a solo, it wasn't anything different from the solos in the previous thirty-two songs, but it served it's purpose. He listened to it only half focused. After a couple of beats the singer started again. _"My baby don't love me no more," _was heard for the fiftieth time that night. He jerked his head back, the movement was followed by his hand and the glass, and gulped the remains of the whiskey down his throat. "You're damn right," he hissed from between his teeth as he slammed the glass back on the counter. Then he chuckled under his breath, a bit bitterly even: "Who writes there fucking lyrics anyway..." He wasn't saying it to anyone special, he knew that no one was listening, but, even though, it was a thought worth saying. At last _he_ thought so. 

If he wasn't waiting for an answer, he got it anyway. His heart almost jumped up to the roof as a voice suddenly stated next to his left shoulder, as if it was a completely normal thing to say: "Conveyer belt writers."

His head whirled around, his mouth slightly cracked in surprise, and he was set face to face with a man sitting on the barstool next to his. He was slightly taken aback by the realization that he hadn't even noticed that anyone was sitting there.

A smile formed on the man's face as he kept staring at him with his face full of wonder. The smile wasn't mocking, positively drunken, but not mocking, as the man put down his glass and turned on his chair to face him properly. "They're conveyer belt writers," he explained with a grin. "The guys who write these things. They don't care about art or creating or making hits songs or something new and wondrous. They're just songwriters who pull out a guaranteed formula from their back-pocket when they're in need of some cash and write an album full of songs just alike, get some guys from the clubhouse to record the songs and sell them to people like these jukebox-guys who buy them because they don't have to pay as much for them as they would for some famous guy." As if to make his point final, the man nodded self-confidentially and took a sip from his beer. "Mind if I join you?" he asked, stumbling slightly over his words. Considering that he was already sitting there, must've been for some time, and wasn't showing any signs of leaving that was a really stupid thing to even ask. 

Or to answer. "Well, actually..." he started and then closed his mouth as he realized that he had no reason to tell him to get lost, or no desire to. "Sure, why not," he said at last. 

The man offered him his hand. "Billy."

"Toby," he responded as he took his hand and shook it briefly. 

"Can I get you another drink? You seem a bit dry there."

He glanced at the man, Billy, and his friendly smile, and then at the lonely ice cubes in his glass. "Yeah, sure. Thanks."

Billy gave a little wave at the bartender and a nod towards the empty glass, and soon it was full again. Then he turned back to Toby. "So, women, eh?"

He'd just been taking a sip from the drink as his hand stopped moving and left hanging in the air half way between the counter and his lips, the movement abruptly disturbed by this weird question, if it was one. He glanced at Billy. "Excuse me?"

"People usually drink alone looking as fucked-up as you do for two reasons: women or money. Looking at you outfit, it ain't the latter."

"Well, what's your excuse then? For drinking alone?"

His face lit up in a sparkling smile, the kind only a drunken person can give. "Oh, but I'm not drinking alone, am I? I'm drinking with _you_." 

There was something so child-like in his statement, like a kid pointing out something he thinks is so obvious, proud that he realized it before the adults did, that he couldn't help but to laugh out loud and shake his head as he took a sip from the whiskey. "Yeah, I guess you are."

"See," Billy went on with the topic he'd opened, "my missus always preaches about the sisterhood, she's one of those 70's feminists that burnt their bras in front of the city hall. In front of raving maniacs like her, us guys gotta stick together."

A smile curved Toby's lips as the warm memory of a certain raving maniac who he knew so well invaded his thoughts. Then the smile faded as quickly as it had appeared. "Yeah," he grunted as his mind suddenly drifted back to apathy. 

The two men sat in a sudden silence for some time, taking small sips from their drinks from time to time. From the side of his eye, Billy watched the other man, sitting hunched over the counter, his profile dark and miserable. In a sudden burst of sympathy he leant slightly closer, as if to form an invisible barrier around the two of them. "So, what's the story?"

His eyes turned to meet his, they were slightly unfocused and red due to too many whiskeys, and he stared for awhile. Then he turned back ahead, his hand moving to rub his forehead slowly -- his thumb moving across his temple and over his eyebrow as the other fingers imitated it's movements on the other side -- and eventually slipped down to cover his chin. Billy didn't rush him, didn't want to make him say anything he didn't want to. Toby on the other hand was trying to decide how much he was willing to tell this man who he hadn't known for more than five minutes and whether he was willing to tell him anything at all. 

A long sigh escaped from his lungs and his hand cupped the glass, the small whirling movement of the ice begun again. Round and round and round and round. 

"Well," he started with a silent voice after a beat, this one word making Billy unconsciously lean closer to focus on every word yet to come, "it all started about three months ago..."

TBC


	2. Chapter One

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Author: Elina

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A/N: Once again, this hasn't been betaed because my beta already has, what, is it four of my stories (?) to work on and I wanted to get this up. I mean right away. 

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100 Ways to Say I'm Sorry - Chapter 1

I was already standing in the back of the room as she walked in. I watched her determined figure silently as she moved to the podium. The reporters took their places as soon as she entered and they're completely silent now, waiting for her to begin.

"Good evening," she starts with a steady voice. It's a voice that has no marks of the battle that has been going on all day. 

I notice that I haven't breathed for awhile.

"We have two birthdays today, so we have cake. One cake. It's nice to share." There a little beat, hardly noticeable though, to say that the subject is changing. "Quickly, before I take questions, a late edition to Monday's schedule: the President will be at the opening of the Smithsonian exhibit commemorating the sixtieth anniversary of the attack on Pearl Harbor. That's three in the afternoon, and I'll have more information Monday morning. Labor Secretary Carl Reed will brief from this podium in one hour's time on our school-to-work initiative, and, let me check, yeah, while that's going on, there'll be a briefing at the Department of Health and Human services by USDA director David Rhinegold. Sometime Tuesday you'll be briefed at the Pentagon. The DOD will be announcing that we've renewed our lease another ten years with the Khalifa Airbase in Qumar. I understand they've promised to paint and add new carpet."

A little wave of laughs flow over the briefing room and I give my heart a permission to start beating again.

"A delegation from..."

Her eyes wander at mine for a brief second. I can't read them, she's pulled down the mask again, but I know she's noticed me standing there in the doorway. I press my hands against my chest, over my heart, to send her a silent thank you across the room. 

There's a spark in her eyes that I can't understand. Before I get the change to try to comprehend it, her eyes turn to glance at her papers and she continues. No one even noticed that there was a pause. "... state and the UN will be sitting down to go over some last-minute language for Vienna, and for that trip we'll have your schedules ready middle part of next week. Who's got questions?"

The questions fly by my acknowledgement, they fail to interest me. All I know is what she didn't say, and how much it took from her.

Sometimes I'm just amazed how powerful she can be. Every wind can blow and she won't flicker. 

I know that isn't exactly true. I've seen her shatter, but... It's funny how even in her most vulnerable moment she has a fire burning in her eyes, how she can just straighten up and take the world in her hand. She can do that, she can. She has strength. She has fire.

I don't ever want to see that fire die.

I back out of the room and leave her to finish off the briefing. After all, she can handle it. She always has.

***

About five minutes after the briefing has ended, I'm sitting in my office, waiting for her. I can hear her before I see her. Her voice carriers around the corner and I shoot up from the chair to confront her. 

I step out of the office to see her talking with Carol with her back towards me. "Claudia."

Her name is like a blade cutting through their conversation. Both women turn to look at me questioningly. 

"Could I talk with you for a minute?"

She doesn't say anything, just turns to Carol, giving her a memo. I barely hear her mumbling: "Get this to Jeremy and find out when he's planning to take the commission." The young woman nods, scribbling something shortly into her notebook and walks away.

As she turns back to me, there something in her eyes that makes me feel guilty. It's anger, I realize. She's angry at me. No, not at me, I correct in my mind as she brushes by me to the office. To _us_. 

She takes place in front of my desk as I close the door behind me, her arms folded defensively across her chest. 

"It's not right," she states before I have the change to even open my mouth. Her voice is firm, disappointed. 

I bow my head and stare at my feet, tucking my hands in my pockets, not willing to look at her disapproving expression. The blinds are closed and the lights are off -- the only light is coming from outside from the setting sun -- and I consider turning the switch, letting brightness fill the room again, but it just doesn't seem appropriate. 

"It's not right," she says again, this time softer, quieter, and I raise my head to meet her eyes. They look at me sadly, lost.

"What is?"

She doesn't answer. I know what she's thinking, her face tells me everything. The sadness she wears is unbearable. Her eyes close as she leans against the edge of the desk as if searching for support from it, and a hardly hearable sigh escapes from her lips. 

I don't want to see her like this. I don't want to see her sad. 

Come on CJ, I want to say. Come on, you have the fire, I know you do. Smile for me. 

But I don't say it. Instead I just take a step closer, then another, and another, until I'm standing right in front of her. 

"A woman's husband poured burning hot water on her because she'd went out without his permission. She hit him on the head with a saucepan in self-protection and she was sentenced to life imprisonment." Her voice is shaking, with rage or with tears, I can't tell which. "_She_ was sentenced. To life. I -- I just can't --"

"I know," I whisper softly, brushing a lock of hair away from her face, wanting to brush away her sadness with it. My hands land a bit uncertainly on her shoulders, sliding gently down her arms. "I know." 

"How can we give weapons to them?" Her voice is silent, like a little child asking his father where do puppies go when they die, as I pull her closer, into my arms. Her head lowers to rest against my shoulder, her hands press against my chest. 

I don't respond to her. I can't. How could I when I don't know the answer? 

Her body is warm against mine. I can feel her heartbeats. Steady thuds. One, two, three. My arms have wrapped around her, and I lay a little kiss on the top of her head. The steady beats of her heart echo in my ears. One, two, three.

Neither of us says a word.

I can hear people outside in the Operations bullpen, moving, talking, louder voices, quieter voices, someone laughing briefly. But inside this room there's only the steady heartbeats. There's a world out there, but inside here... there's just us.

"Toby...?" 

The voice is barely a whisper. Her movements are slow as she pulls apart a bit to meet my eyes. There's no mask on her face anymore. I can see right through her, through her power and her self-control, through the calmness and the steady voice. It frightens me in a way, but it also comforts me -- to know that I have the power to break her barriers, that I have access. 

She doesn't say anything more. She doesn't have to. Her eyes, her face, they speak for her mouth, things that can't be formed into words, and leave space for her lips to move closer; her head dips, leaning slightly sideways. 

She tastes sweet. She tastes like strawberry. She tastes like coffee and toothpaste. She tastes like phantoms and cherrypoppings. She tastes exactly as I've always imagined.

The kiss deepens; what started as a gentle touch, lips only barely brushing against each other, is now growing, flowing over me, drowning me under it. As if I've been in a daze, I soon find myself on the couch, not knowing how we'd ended up there from the other side of the room, but there we are, our bodies tangled up together, our lips desperately pressing against each other as if any second now something will happen to break us apart for good. Our hands rush to touch and caress, and she pulls me on top of her.

We make love on the couch, silently, longingly, needing, clinging on to each other as if our lives depend on it.

The world's out there, but inside here... there's just us.

TBC

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P.S. Somebody's bound to ask what are cherrypoppings. In reality? Nothing, I guess. I just remember this story I heard when I was little that was about this fantasy world that had all kinds of weird things growing out of trees and there was a cherrypopping tree and the fruit were these sorta candies that tasted like sugared cherry. I have no idea who wrote the story or what it's name was, but anyway, the cherrypoppings are there in a fairy-talish sort of metaphor. Or something... Oh, and one other thing I wanted to mention is that the story about the woman who got life is true, it actually happened. Something to think about. 


	3. Chapter Two

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Author: Elina

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A/N: Subtext, baby, subtext.

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WARNING: I curse. Not much but I just do. That's me. So, if you find it offensive or just don't particularly like people cursing... Run. Now.

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# 100 Ways to Say I'm Sorry - Chapter 2 # 

When the rush had slightly worn off, when the adrenaline had stopped throbbing our temples, when the deafening pounding of our heartbeats, thud, thud, thud, had stopped hearing so clearly in our ears, we were left feeling embarrassed, awkward. And she fled. She gathered her clothes, somehow managed to get them on without the result looking too messed up, and, before the reality kicked in, she was gone.

It had taken me awhile to remember where I was. I dressed in haste and was saved by mere luck as only a minute later, after I'd sat down behind my desk, still plucking on my tie with my trembling hands, Sam walked in. He just gave a disapproving look at my blown-up appearance and went on with his concerns. He hadn't even bothered to wonder what had happened. Just business as usual. 

It took days for us to start functioning in a somewhat normal manner. Still we kept dodging; each other, meeting, interaction, conversation, eye contact -- anything that moved even slightly under the water surface. If we said something to each other, it was strictly professional; some comments about the current state of the house, domestic politics, foreign politics, laws...

There were days when I was just full of politics. 

I'd keep watching her over the room unaware of myself. When she'd lift her head and see me, we'd both turn away. Like some fucking teenagers. And every minute of conscious and unconscious dodging that passed by, every useless bullshit chit-chat that we had, just rubbed on my nerves. On hers, too, I could tell. 

Just like it did today. 

"Ginger!"

My door is open, and she had been sitting by her desk just two minutes ago, so there's no way she couldn't have heard me. Still, no answer comes. I wait for another second. 

"Ginger!" I bellow again.

Then there is an irritated "I'm coming"-shout from the bullpen and then some annoyed muttering. "What?" Her head pops into the doorway.

"Get Sam here."

Her eyeballs take a spin. "He's right there in his office." There's an unsaid 'Jesus Christ', and my eyes narrow.

"Don't go cheeky on me," I snarl.

I think I heard her muttering under her breath "Don't go asshole on me," and I slam my fist against my desk. Hard. She jumps. "Get him here, _now_!" 

"I'm here, I'm here!" His dark figure jumps to join her in the doorway, a saving knight in a shiny armor. He looks from me to Ginger and back again with his eyes wide and big with concern. "I'm here," he states a bit less freaked out, soothingly. Sam, ever the peacemaker.

His hand reaches out for Ginger, just a little action of comfort, as if he's apologizing for my behalf, but she turns on her heals and walks away. Sam glares at me like he's ready to explode. 

"Ginger..." I call out after her, but she's already gone.

Great. Just great. 

*

"Leo's office in five," Ginger grunts as she stops by in my office, throws the memo in front of me on the desk and storms out again. She's still demonstrating, that stubborn woman, still as mad as hell at me. So is Sam. He shouted at me previously until I had to throw him out. 

I don't know how to apologize. I'm not good at apologizing. She should know that. 

I try to read the memo, concentrate on something meaningful, but the words just seem to fly off the paper and start taking spins around my head, and all that I can think about is how much my back hurts. I close my eyes. I think about today. I think about the past week. And when all the thinking is done, five minutes is up and it's time to head to Leo's, my mood is even worse. Not only does my back still hurt but now I'm also thinking. About CJ and Ginger. The two women in my life. Two women who both currently must hate me, at least neither of them is speaking to me. That's shitty. 

I'm the first one there, and Margaret tells me to just go in. Leo's finishing off a phone call as I step in and waves me to hold on a minute. I take a position near the back wall. This meeting is one that I have no interest participating in. The sooner I get the hell out of here, the better. In a heartbeat the others waltz in and I get to blend in perfectly against the wall. They hardly even notice I'm there. Which is just fine by me. 

She's the last to join us. 

I watch as she walks in, a couple of minutes late, her lips forming a wordless sorry to Leo since we've already started. She doesn't find a seat, just leaves standing next to Josh's on the other side of the room from me, and listens as Sam goes on about the Health Care Bill. She doesn't take a look at me, which just irritates me. 

She stands straight. No folded arms, no bent knees, no hunched shoulder, just stick straight, but she still manages to look casual. Which irritates me even more. The words start muffling in my ears; I don't care to listen. Let the others sort this one out, they're perfectly capable of handling it on their own. So, instead of listening, I just watch her. 

I can't understand how she can just pretend that nothing ever happened? It's not like we were drunk or anything. My hand searches my forehead and starts rubbing it slowly, like trying to rub out these thoughts that keep invading my mind time after time. I just can't understand her. And I hate the dodging. I just hate it. I'm full of it all. 

"Saughton," I suddenly recognize the name from within all the other words, and my head jumps up. All the thoughts clear up in my head. Then I remember the memo. Saughton. So that's what this is all about. "Is he really seriously going to do this?" I hear Leo remarking, and my mind starts slowly returning to reality. Saughton. 

Then she opens her mouth.

"We should cover him up. I could make a couple of phone calls, and it'll be tough but I think I could make it happen as long as --"

"We can't cover him up," I suddenly burst out, not quite aware that I said it out loud, letting all the unsaid frustration that has been packing inside of me all week get out.

Every eye pair in the room turns to look at me, save CJ's. She doesn't even glance at me, just asks with an almost bored voice, as if she'd been expecting me to jump in: "We can't?"

"We need him." I move away from my safe haven next to the wall and walk closer to her and Leo. "We can use him. If we let him go open, we can throw it upside down to our benefit. If we do that, we'll get half of the Republicans on our side with this, and it's a guaranteed vote win for us."

Now she turns to look at me, finally. Her eyes send me a warning look. "No. If we let this loose, maybe, I'm saying _maybe_ we'll get the Republicans --"

"We will."

"Okay, let's say we do. Let's say we do win them --"

"The vote's a tie and all we'd need --"

"If we let Saughton loose, we'll lose Virginia and half of _our_ team! All we'd need is a miracle!"

"We can get our party back."

She doesn't even bother to laugh. "In your dreams."

"Saughton is valuable. We can't just let this pass us."

"Saughton would've been extremely valuable, but not in this situation. We can't use him, and you know that!"

"I know that we can do this, it would just take a little more effort. You can't always squirm your way out through where it's the easiest."

Her eyes narrow, just barely noticeably, as she gasps slightly, and even I'm not sure what I'm talking about anymore.

"You know what I think? I think you're only bitching at me to get to show who's the boss. That's what I think."

"This has nothing to do with you. I --"

"Guys..." 

"-- don't _need_ to get show you who's the boss, I _am_ your boss."

"And I'm the employee?" she spits out bitterly. 

"Damn straight!"

"Guys!"

His voice echoes in the sudden silence as I turn my head to meet the room-full of widened eyes gazing at us. To meet Leo glaring at us. He stands there with his hands grabbing the side of the desk and just stares. His eyes pierce through my flesh. 

"The meeting is over," he tells the room flatly, not taking his eyes off of me. Not even to give an equal look at CJ. I feel like demonstrating about that, like a five-year-old saying 'she started it', but in my brief moment of sensibility I decide not to. 

Slowly, like snapping out of a hypnosis, the others start moving, and when they get their limbs working, they get the hell out of the war zone as fast as they can. CJ marches out of the room right behind them. I guess she saw the look Leo gave me. Only to me. 

The door closes. Somehow the sound that comes from it brakes the spell, and the look, and he turns his eyes to the desk, leaning slightly forward against it. 

Some could say that this posture is one of defeat or tiredness. I _know_ it's one of determination. 

"I don't know what has happened between the two of you, Toby, and frankly, I don't care. Just sort it out." His voice is steady, not showing any emotion, but that's what makes it so impressive: it's facelessness. 

As I don't answer, he lifts his head, just enough to give me a look from under his brows. "You understand me?"

"It wasn't--"

"You understand me?" This time firmer, more demandingly.

The silence controls the room once again for a beat. Then I nod. "Yes."

"And Toby?" 

"Yes?"

"Cover it up."

His body lowers into the chair, his hand searches a file. The conversation's over. 

I close the door behind me as I leave.

TBC


	4. Chapter Three

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Author: Elina

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A/N: This hasn't been betaed, so don't scream at errors. Feedback is appreciated and welcome. Thanks to the man at the bowling alley, who told me to slide: my bowling didn't get any better but it gave me an idea. 

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WARNING: I still curse.

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# 100 Ways to Say I'm Sorry - Chapter 3 #

I keep circling around the bullpen, searching for some courage. Courage to dive into the water. I stop for a minute, open my mouth as if I'm going to say something -- or maybe I'm just getting ready to hold my breath -- and almost walk over there. Then I decide not to and continue circling, take a walk around the corridors, come back, and try again. And fail.

People are starting to think that I've gone crazy. 

I go through what I'm thinking of saying all over again in my head and come to the conclusion that I should never be the Communications Director since everything I can think of just sounds incredibly stupid. Finally I give up plans and decide just to say what ever comes into my mind. That's not a good plan but I'm going to go with it. Still, I can't find the will to go in.

There's too many people around, anyway.

Another round of pacing the hallways. I don't know if I'm only imagining it, but suddenly the hallways seem crowded and full of noise. It was much quieter outside her office. This thought drives me back there. 

I was right. Only Carol is there and, when she sees me, she gives me a knowing look that seems to say 'get in there' and leaves. After she's gone, I can hear her in her office, walking, stopping, sighing. The sound pulls me closer.

I stop at her doorway, holding out my hand to grab the frame as if in mental support. "CJ."

She turns around at the sound of her own name, and I forget everything I was going to say. Not that it matters anyway.

I go with the first remark that pops into my mind. "We have to stop doing this." Then I heave a sigh before continuing, turning my eyes at my shoes. "The thing is--" I shut my mouth to start again. "What we did was..."

"Unthinkable," she fills in. "Reckless, irresponsible, stupid --"

"No."

Her burst of speak stops in the air like cut with a knife.

"No," I repeat again, my voice low and raspy, as I raise my eyes from the floor and level them with hers. She's now listening, waiting, looking at me intensely. She's really listening to me. For the first time in days. 

As I open my mouth again, even I can hardly hear my own voice. "You're not just an employee to me. Never have been."

She doesn't say anything. Not a word. Not a single little thing. She just looks at me with her mask on again, and I find it impossible to read her. As the silence continues, I let my eyes wander back to my shoes, embarrassed of what I just admitted. 

She's still not saying anything as I take a deep breath and let the air slowly flow out again with a word; "Okay." This is not exactly how I'd imagined it. 

She should say something, anything at all, she should tell me to fuck off or throw things at me or call me a jerk, anything at all, but she should say _something_. She doesn't.

I pat the doorframe with the palm of my hand twice, a frustrated habit that I sometimes just can't help, before tucking my hands into my pockets. "Okay." With that, I turn around and leave. 

"That went really well, didn't it," my head is mocking at me. 

As I get into my office I take the ball out and start bouncing it against the wall. Bang, bang, clap. Bang, bang, clap. Bang, bang, clap. I, hate, today. Bang, bang, clap. Shit, shit, shit. Bang, bang, clap. 

After fifteen minutes of bouncing, Ginger turns up in the doorway and tells me to shut up. I can't be bothered to remark that I haven't actually _said_ anything, but still I catch the ball as it bounces back from the wall and place it on the table. 

"Thank you," she mutters and turns to leave.

"Ginger...?"

Her eyes turn to look at me tiredly, as if waiting for me to burst out again. I do that too often nowadays, I guess. Surprise fills her face as I open my mouth, forming the words softly: "I'm sorry."

It's like I'm having a déjà-vu as she just stands there staring at me. Then her lips curve in a small smile. "It's okay," she answers in an equally soft tone. 

"Could you close the door, please?" I ask when there's nothing else to say. She nods and pulls the door shut.

I'm left there in a silence that's breaking my ears. 

*

"Toby!"

I let a deep sigh escape from my lips as I stop moving and wait for him to catch up with me. "I'm off," I tell Josh as he appears next to me. 

"I know, I know, there's just --"

"Don't say it."

" -- one more little thing --"

"Don't say it, what ever you do, don't say it or I swear to God..."

" -- that I need you to do," he finishes.

I glare at him for awhile, watch him panting after the run he did to catch me. "I told you not to say it," I snap. His face takes a pleading expression, like a freaking puppy. "No, Josh." 

"Toby," he whines, "it's just a little, tiny, extremely small thing..."

"Look at me. I have my coat on, my bag with me, my scarf around my neck, I'm half way to the door. Just a few more steps and I'd be out of that door, finally breathing some fresh air after this musty office air, and then a few more steps and I'd be in my car, driving happily towards home. I'd put on a Dolly Parton tape and hum along with it, not because Dolly Parton makes my day, but to make the point that I'm extremely happy to get the hell out of here, so happy that even Dolly Parton can't make me scream."

I gasp for air, amazed that I didn't just pass out, and let him stare at me like I've just grown a second head. I sigh, defeated. "What is it?"

"Shanghai."

As he breaths out the word, I spin around on my heels and start walking towards the door. "Toby!" he yells after me.

"You know where you can put Shanghai amongst all the other things that you call small, Josh! I've got Dolly Parton waiting for me in my car!" I shout over my shoulder, and the security guy in the hall gives me a weird look. Once more I hear him calling my name, but I don't care. I'm off.

I've gotten enough bullshit for one day. 

It's nearer to 10 p.m. as I drive up in front of my apartment building. With a long sigh I climb out off the car and bang the door shut. 

As I get into the elevator, I crash against the wall rubbing my forehead again. The long day has worn me off in so many levels. My back still hurts and the bag seems to weigh a ton. That's only the physical troubles. In a week my life has gone straight to hell. 

The doors slide open and I stumble to the corridor deep in my thoughts and, hardly noticing that I've been moving, I find myself at my door. It takes its time for me to dig the keys out of my pocket. Finally the door is unlocked and swung open. I step in -- and freeze.

There's someone in here. 

A narrow beam of light comes from around the corner, dancing on the floor and fading the shadows in the otherwise dark apartment. I'm certain I closed all the lights when I left this morning. 

Slowly I reach out to close the door. There's someone in there, is all that I can hear screaming in my head. Then I notice something on the floor, next to the wall. 

Shoes. 

I frown. There's a pair of shoes, woman's shoes, in my apartment. Shoes and a beam of light. "Hello?" I call out taking a couple of steps towards the light. As I get around the corner, I see where the light is coming from: the bathroom. There's someone in my bathroom. 

What the hell is someone doing in my bathroom?

The room is filled with steam and it's warm barrier hits me in the face as I crack the door open and stick my head in. 

All I can see through the fog is a long leg peeking out of the bathtub, water dripping on the floor from the tip of the toes.

I make a silent groan as I recognize the leg. Or at least I think so, I'm not sure. I must've imagined it because she shows no signs of noticing that I'm there. 

Her hair is lifted up, her arms casually resting on the edges of the tub. Her head is resting against the wall and her eyes are shut, the look on her face is content, utterly relaxed. The other knee, the one that isn't stretched straight and hanging almost out of the tub, is rising from within the foam temptingly. I watch as a small group of bubbles slowly slide down her thigh, finally disappearing amongst the others waiting below. 

I gulp. "Um, CJ...?" I squeak slightly. I think I'm losing the control of my voice. 

She makes a little noise, to let me know that she's awake.

"The..." I point my thumb at the door, shifting uncomfortably at the sight of her. "You," I start again. You're naked, I was going to state but then I realize that of course she's naked, she's in my bathtub. Naked. I shake my head. "What are you doing in my tub?" Naked.

"Your apartment is freezing cold. It's like freaking North Pole." She still doesn't open her eyes, as if her explanation was completely understandable and reasonable and covered all possible questions yet to come. 

"So you decided to..."

"It's warm in here. You have no idea how divine plain hot water can feel like sometimes."

I stutter over my words, fail to even form them for a second actually, as I suddenly remember, again, what she is under those bubbles. Naked. "My radiator broke this morning," I finally stammer. 

She smiles, a small smile that only flickers in the side of her mouth as if she's too lazy to even grin properly. "You should get someone to fix that. North Pole, Toby, North Pole."

"Yeah."

This is weird. Having a conversation like this. With her in the bathtub. Naked. Damn it, Toby! You have to stop adding that after every fucking sentence! "How did you get in?" I ask to interrupt my thoughts. 

"Ginger has your spare keys."

I glance at her. She just lies there without a muscle moving, without any kind of reaction. "Ginger?" Did she... "What did you tell her?"

"I told her that I'm going to fuck your brains out."

She doesn't smile, she just lies there, relaxed. In my bathtub. Naked, something reminds me in my head, not in a bad way this time. I can't help the wide, stupid smirk that slowly invades my face, like a little boy's in a candy store, as her words sink in. "Okay." 

"She laughed."

"I can live with that," I state as I finally dare to move into the room.

She opens her eyes. Her big, wide eyes that are now looking at me invitingly, twinkling, smiling. "C'mere, Grumpy," she speaks with a low voice that sends shivers all the way down my spine. 

She doesn't have to ask me twice. 

TBC.... 


	5. Chapter Four

****

A/N: This took me awhile, but here it is. It's a bit short but hopefully it gives something to look forward to.

# 100 Ways to Say I'm Sorry #

There's a group of tourists in the hallway as I enter. A big, noisy group to be exact. The guide is explaining some history to her eager listeners. They take pictures, lights flash, and they invade the corridor entrance. I push by them towards my office. As she sees me, the guide points my presence out to the tourists and they turn their heads to gawk at me, which in another time would've pissed me off, but not today. I give them a little nod and leave the scene as soon as possible.

Even annoying tourists can't disturb me today.

"Hey, gorgeous!" I hear someone shouting after me as I sweep past Josh's office. With a smile on my face I turn around. 

CJ rushes towards me with a pile of files in her hands. "Wow, I haven't seen that expression on you face for awhile. Now, wait --" she corrects with a smirk, as if she's just remembered. "I have." Then she concludes with a low voice which only I can hear: "I think it was last night."

That makes me grin even wider.

"Is it such a spectacle if I'm happy?" I answer with mock annoyance. 

She blushes. Just lightly, but still... It makes her look even more beautiful. "I thought you preferred an inner smile."

"I changed my mind."

Her eyes sparkle briefly, just a little hint of something lingering under the cool appearance. "You know, I was thinking..." she starts slowly with her voice barely a whisper. "If you don't --"

"Toby!"

Damn. I grunt as I see Sam coming. CJ takes a small step back, more like _jumps_ back, actually. "I need to talk to you about the speech," he says as he reaches us. 

"Now?" 

"Yeah. Ed and Larry are driving me crazy, and I don't even know which one of them is doing it more because they keep talking at the same time and that --"

"Drives you crazy." He nods. "Yeah. I'm coming."

CJ's eyes capture mine for one second. She gives a little wink that Sam doesn't see. I try to keep the smile back. "I'll see you later, Toby," she says casually and whirls around. My eyes stay on her back for a second before I snap out of it.

"Toby?"

"Okay, show me what those Einsteins have been up to now."

* 

It's been a little over a month. 

We haven't told anyone. No one knows. Sam keeps telling me that I act weird, though, but he really hasn't got a clue. No one knows. At work we try to be as careful as possible, outside the White House we try to be as careful as possible. It's when the door closes that we get to be free. I chose not to think about it too much. I guess she did too. We don't talk about it. It goes without saying that this is something that shouldn't be out there. 

Maybe later. 

There are days when we hardly see each other. Days when there's just politics. Those are the days when I'm full of politics. Then there are days when we can steal a minute, a second, anything at all, when we don't have to walk into the same room and start talking about new laws or press releases or speeches. 

Those are good days. 

Like today.

I like today. Today's a good day. Never mind the annoying tourist group that is still crowding the corridors and blocking my way when I need to get somewhere. Today's a good day. 

Sam has been arguing with Ed and Larry the entire day and I don't even want to get involved. I just sit there in the chair toying with my pen and watch them bicker. It's fun. This is how I like spending my day. 

"No, don't write that," Sam says, for the fiftieth time. "Change it."

Ed gives a long, desperate moan. "I've changed it thirty-eight times already!"

"Well do you have better suggestions?"

"What about 'in opinion of --"

"No."

"What do you mean 'no'?" That was Larry this time.

"I mean 'no'. It sounds weak."

"Oh for God's sake..." 

I shake my head with a little one-sided smile. It was like this when I stopped by here in the morning. I've had meetings after that, it was four hours since I last was in this room, and nothing has changed. 

They're just about to start another round of suggestions and turn-downs when I hear a knock at the door. I see Margaret peeking in as I turn my head towards the sound. "Toby," she whispers.

I push myself up and give a nod at Sam. She waits until I'm out of the room before she opens her mouth. "Leo wants to see you. He said immediately." 

"Did he say what for?"

She shakes her head and waves me to follow her. I let her lead the short walk. My steps feel light -- I know it's a cliche but sometimes cliches are the only things that make sense. So, my steps feel light as I tuck my hands into my pockets and follow her. This is a good day, I remind myself.

As I enter Leo's office, he's sitting behind his desk. Waiting. His eyes lock at mine. His hands fold on his lap, elbows resting on the armrests. All of a sudden, my steps don't feel so light anymore.

Something's wrong.

"Could you close the door, Margaret?"

She nods, already reaching out her hand to pull the door shut. It closes quietly, leaving the room in a breathless silence. He lifts his hand to take of his reading glasses and then places them on the table.

It feels like hours, standing there under his piercing gaze.

With a cool, calm voice he finally orders: "Sit down."

TBC....

PS. Keep reading, something is about to finally happen...


	6. Chapter Five

****

A/N: Leo-lovers are going to bang my head against the wall...

****

WARNING: I curse, curse, curse, curse, and especially in this chapter.

****

# 100 Ways to Say I'm Sorry - Chapter 5 #

His firm demand makes me pull out the guest chair and sit down without further questions. He keeps staring at me, his eyes follow my every movement. It manages to make me nervous. I lift my ankle on my knee and lean back. He won't stop staring. 

"What's going on?" I ask after a pause. Avoid, my mind yells at me, deny. 

"You tell me."

I bow my head down avoiding his eyes. "Leo, I really don't know what you're talking about."

"Don't lie to me." His voice is flat, completely emotionless, even when his words tell otherwise. 

"I'm not lying. I just don't think --"

He cuts me off. "When I ask you directly, you could at least answer me truthfully! Now I'm asking: What's going on?"

The volume of his voice is rising with every word and in the end of the sentence it's close to a shout. As his mouth snaps shut, I jump up from the chair and start pacing. 

His voice controls the room as he speaks again: "You have some guts, Toby. And that wasn't a compliment."

"What are you talking about?" I manage to let out. 

"What am I talking about?" he asks flatly. It's not a question really. "I'm talking about last month, I'm talking about you, and I'm talking about CJ."

I stop pacing. I stop dead on my feet and turn my eyes at him slowly. He doesn't even blink. I knew it. 

"You're sleeping with her." Again, a statement, not a question.

I always knew this day would come, but still I'm not prepared to answer him. I try to find the words but it all sounds stupid. "Listen, I was... _We_ were going to tell you."

"I don't give a shit about that."

I frown. "Then what --"

Then, out of nowhere, bluntly, ruthlessly, words that stop my heart: "End it."

I thought I would never hear those words from Leo's mouth in a situation like this. Sam's, maybe, Josh's, definitely, but Leo's... Never. I stand there staring at him with my mouth slightly open, dumbfounded, completely taken aback, shocked. "End it?" I stammer.

"I don't care how you do it, just do it."

The room falls silent for a beat. The only audible sound to me is the sound of my own breathing. 

"What?" The blood in my veins starts boiling as my brains finally register his words. I can't believe this. I can't fucking believe this. He's telling me to... "What?!"

"We don't need a scandal. We can't --"

"Who the hell --"

"-- afford to give away another weapon for our opponents to strike us with!"

My throat feels dry as I start my pacing again, this time not worried but furious, furious at him. That son of a... "Is he behind this?" I point at the closed door of the Oval Office with my hand. "He told you to do this?"

"He has nothing to do with this."

I try to control myself but the words come rushing out, they explode from within me. "Who the fuck do you think you are!!"

"Toby --"

"You think, you actually, honest to God, _think_ that I would even consider working here for one more second after you do _this_? You actually think that? And what about CJ? You think that she's just going to adjust?!"

"You're not going to tell her."

Once again, my pacing stops. "I'm not?"

"You're not going to tell her," he repeats coldly. His face shows no emotion. "If you tell her, I'll make sure that neither of you works in politics again. And if you quit, she goes too. Are you willing to do that to her?"

"Are you blackmailing me?" I spit out.

"I'm not willing to throw out everything we've worked so hard to achieve," he answers plainly, as if it would explain everything, make everything right. 

Breathe, I tell myself. Breathe. Keep breathing. What ever you do, keep breathing. The roles have changed; the piercing gaze has moved from one to another. I have to keep breathing. Breathe. Don't let your anger take you with it. Breathe. 

"This isn't a request, Toby." Breathe. "I'm not asking, I'm telling you." Breathe. "End it before the press finds out. End it now."

"You asshole." The words escape from my lips uncontrollably before I have the change to reconsider them; not that I'd want to. My voice is low and hoarse. It doesn't sound like me. 

For the first time during this conversation, his face gives away something. Pain. Guilt. The hell with his guilt. The hell with him. My eyes narrow, nailing him into his chair. "Go to hell, Leo," I snap. 

I hear his final weak plea behind me as I storm out. 

Ginger meets me in the bullpen and I tell her to find me some cartons and find them now. She gives me a weird look but goes to do as I say. I bang my door shut. My hands rush to pull open all the desk drawers and start shoving my personal things into my bag; photos, pens, my address book, a tie. When one drawer is done, I move to the other. 

Who the hell does he think he is, my mind is still screaming, hollering. I throw a book into the bag; it's starting to get full. 

The TV's open. The goddamn TV is open. She's on, I suddenly realize. She's on. My movements slow, the rushing hands slow down as if waiting for something to happen. 

She starts speaking. "Good afternoon, everyone. Today we only have a couple of things..."

I stop moving; I just listen. I listen to her voice, listen where she stresses the words, weigh the sound in my mind. And then, as if I'm afraid to look at her, I move my eyes at the screen. 

She sparkles. She smiles. She controls the entire roomful of people with the balance of her voice. She loves this. 

She really loves this. 

I crash onto the chair and bury my head in my hands. I'm still sitting there ten minutes from that when Ginger comes in with two cartons. 

I tell her to throw them away. 

TBC...

PS. *takes cover*


	7. Chapter Six

****

A/N: Here it comes, the dreaded chapter six. *drumming*

****

# 100 Ways to Say I'm Sorry - Chapter 6 #

"Is he in?" I hear her distant voice from the bullpen and my head jerks up. I can see her talking to Ginger through the half-closed blinds. Ginger says something to her that makes her glance at my direction with a frown. 

I don't know how long I've sat there but in some point she's ended the briefing. Now she's approaching the office. I watch her as she moves closer. She doesn't stop to knock, just walks straight in and stops to stand in front of the desk. "Is everything okay, Toby?" she asks softly. 

I'm still leaning against my knees with my elbows. It's difficult to look at her in that position, so I straighten up with a long sigh.

"Toby?"

"Yeah?"

"Are you alright?" 

When I don't answer, she starts moving; first to close the door and then to walk to me. She settles herself on the edge of the desk, two inches from me. Her hand reaches to brush my cheek and stays there. The touch makes me sigh again. I push the hand aside. "Don't."

She looks as if I just slapped her on the face. I turn to stare at my hands. "I'm fine." Fine? Sure, why not.

Her hands start moving, her thumb points at the closed door. "Ginger said something about --"

"It was fun."

She stops speaking in mid-sentence with her thumb still pointing. "What?" she mouths with a confused look on her face.

"The..." I can't stand to look at her, so I move my eyes as far away from her as possible, let them wander anywhere around the room as long as it's not her. "Last month. Us." My mouth suddenly feels dry again. 

The room is dead quiet for a long time.

"Was?" she whispers.

Breathe, I tell myself. Just keep breathing.

"It... It was fun, but I don't think... I think we'd better leave it be."

"Fun?" Her voice cracks slightly. It makes me flinch. 

Time to put on the masks. "We can't do this anymore. We've had our fun but now... It's better that we stop it before someone makes wrong conclusions."

Her hand slaps me. She doesn't say anything as she rises up and walks out of the room. The memory of her hand stays to burn my cheek, though. 

Breathe. In and out. In and out. Keep breathing...

I don't know when my head started hurting, but the pain is now throbbing my temples. 

TBC...

In the coming chapters: Who will kick Leo's ass to the moon? Will CJ ever find out the truth? Does Toby manage to get as drunk as humanly possible? Stay tuned.


End file.
